


Your Salvation

by MadDub



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Angelstuck, Arranged Marriage, But Nothing Really Big and I'm Avoiding Anything too Controversial, But They All Pretty Much Die And Are Very Minor, Dark, Demonic Possession, Demonstuck, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Guardian Angels, Humanstuck, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Obsession, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Paranormal, Religious Themes, Smut, Stalking, Suicide, The Main Characters Aren't Raped But Rape is in Here, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadDub/pseuds/MadDub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guardian angels are given three chances before they are a lost cause to Heaven. Once they've taken two chances, they're kicked out of Heaven and have to live out their third chance on Earth. If they can save one-hundred souls, they are redeemed and allowed back into the gates of Heaven. Problem is, there's nothing tempting in Heaven, so almost every angel turns into a demon once they land on Earth.</p>
<p>Karkat Vantas is well on his way to demonhood if he can't get on with saving the souls of the lost. Luckily for him, he's teamed up with one John Egbert, who is very good at this sort of thing.</p>
<p>Or "In Which Karkat is a Fallen Angel, John is Forced to Marry Him, They Go Around Saving People So Karkat Doesn't Go to Hell And Fall in Love in The Process"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Settle In

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS BECAUSE THIS STORY IS SCREWED UP IN SO MANY WAYS. ALSO PLEASE READ THIS NOTE 'CAUSE IMPORTANT STUFF RELATING TO THIS FIC IS IN IT.
> 
> Also note, when I tagged "POV swapping" I didn't mean between Karkat and John. You'll notice throughout this story sometimes I will have a section of passage in which second person is used and then another, longer section in which third person is used. I do this on purpose, though it's not present in this particular chapter. "You" is a different person each chapter, and most of the time will consist of one of the Homestuck characters. I do this so the reader can guess who "you" is and how they will fit in to that chapter, because every "you" will have a rather large part in the situation at hand. Sometimes, however, "you" might be some random OC that will die later because I'm a mean person.
> 
> Well, this chapter is weird, but I'm warning you now: every chapter after this will be VERY different from this one. Firstly, something bad will happen in every single on after this, and secondly, it won't JUST revolve around romance. This series has a rather intricate plot and I plan to use it.
> 
> I think that's about everything important, so feel free to continue on now. Just know that the last bit is porn and it might suck because I suck at writing porn. My friend told me it was fine but I'm not sure I believe her.

John Egbert fidgeted in his suit, unsure how in the _hell_ he had ended up like this.

The church around him was luxurious, of course. It was a strange church of unknown branch, origin, or followers, but built extravagantly, much like a Catholic cathedral. On the inside, its high ceiling swooped up into a glass dome sitting on the center of the roof, leaking sunlight into the otherwise romantically-lit inside.

Dark, polished pews lined the room, reaching back to the farthest wall, an upper floor full of yet more pews built in to make the whole thing look bigger, grander.

There were no stained glass windows, or any at all, unless one counted the dome sitting on the top of the church, and the front of the room was raised up onto a dais for the preacher or religious leader to instruct, a lush red rug rolling all the way back to the entrance doors. Candles were mounted into the walls, the main source of light here, glowing and soft against the sharp, intimidating atmosphere.

On the dais, standing off to one side with a preacher-like man in front of him, was who John could only assume was Karkat, crisp black suit clothing a lean, tall body, a thick black scarf tied around his neck, hair, and face, though a few locks of black hair poked through. Sunglasses sat on his nose, hiding his eyes and probably completely obscuring the guy’s vision. It was incredibly suspicious, all in all, and not to mention a bit scary! Both the preacher and Karkat turned to look at him when John pushed the entrance doors open, standing in the doorway with his mouth dry and suit sticking to his wrists and armpits with sweat.

A few grim-faced people were sitting in the front pews, and quite a few others dressed to cover themselves like Karkat were with them, all of them staring at John as he momentarily paused, scared and unsure.

The start of an unseen piano jogged him enough for him to mentally shake his head and physically force his feet forward. He had to do this. No matter how weird, or scary, or how much his heart thudded and his stomach curled and his mind screamed, he had to. To back out now would mean . . .

John’s eye drifted to find the Doctor, wearing a pressed white suit and a blank expression.

He gulped, gaze going back to the strangely-concealed Karkat.

* * *

 

John was supposed to inherit half of a popular joke shop with his sister, Jane, after the death of their dear father.

He had wanted it, to be perfectly honest. He had desperately, lovingly took care of that store, day and night and all the hours outside and in-between. John had poured himself into it, had slept at the register and ate all of his meals in the break room. A few times he’d even been forced to bathe himself with a sponge, a bar of soap, and the employee-only bathroom sink.

Unfortunately for him, while Jane had loved it only slightly less than him, she simply didn’t have the time for a joke store. Jane was an ambitious, independent young lady who had recently opened her own business right before their father died, a bakery that sold the sweetest, best-made pastries in all of D.C. A new business took time and energy to maintain, especially when your only true reputation was through your father’s prank shop, so Jane couldn’t do anything with the store they had inherited.

However, Jane being Jane, she didn’t want to accept money she wasn’t actively working for herself, and so offered her half to John. John, too, was no ingrate, so he refused to take her half without paying for it himself, so with a lot of debate, arguments, and exasperation, they eventually settled on a solid albeit cheap price for Jane’s half of the company.

John happily took if off her hands after that, and for a good while, the joke store—named Egbert Island, which was kind of awkward but it always used to make Dad chuckle to see the name, so John, of course, kept it—flourished. Customers loved to go down to Egbert Island and have prank wars in-store with John, who was the very _master_ of all things humorous. He almost always won, but the visitors were gleeful enough just being allowed to throw pies at people’s faces and squirt water bottles on their friends to be too hung up over losing.

Things were awesome for those few years. Egbert Island had an amazing reputation as both a fun hangout and a store with items of wonderful quality, so the money was pouring in. More even than Dad Egbert used to make when _he_ worked the store.

There wasn’t much of a downhill drop, to be honest. When it hit, it slammed into John and his little store _hard._

It was a normal day like any other, with John pranking and laughing and showing people how to work everything. There was nothing suspicious or concerning that he noticed around the store, despite being on the patrol at all times.

He didn’t know that someone had somehow replaced the water in a of the few squirt bottles with perfume, which didn’t sound harmful in _theory,_ only there was a little girl in his store at the time who was deathly allergic to just that brand of smelling odors. With a prank war going on 24/7 in his shop, it didn’t take much before the girl suffocated and died right on his floor.

Though he hadn’t had time to call an ambulance, and much less know she was on the ground, _dying,_ he and his store took a big hit. The police and law didn’t blame him, but no perpetrator was caught, and the fact that no one had noticed as someone withered away and died in his store scared most of the customers—especially parents with children—far, far away, never to return. He didn’t blame them, really, but after that his store took a nose-dive in profits. John tried to advertise everywhere, sending messages that he had upgraded his security, that it was safe now (he even sent money and apologies to the family of the girl who died, though he didn’t publicly release that information). Still, none of it was enough. Within the year, he was forced to stop buying cool prank stuff, sell everything he could, and close the doors to his shop for the last time.

Jane was sympathetic, obviously. She rushed to his side, offering cookies and lending money and shelter if he ever needed it. He was grateful, both then and now, but there was no way he could just sit around and let her babysit him forever.

John didn’t have anything above a bachelor’s in business. When he was younger, he used to daydream about becoming a comedian one day, so he looked into it. He took the Internet’s advice and bought a notebook to write down jokes, funny thoughts, and funny stories as they occurred to him, had Jane look them over and help him perfect them.

They were pretty good, at least in his mind. With the help of Google, he was even able to find an open mic session at one of the restaurants downtown. He set himself up a spot, practiced his expressions in the mirror, and recorded his voice telling his own jokes just to make sure it was as amusing as possible.

But it wasn’t meant to be. The restaurant had an accident and ended up burning one night two weeks before the open mic session.

John was horrified and disappointed. Jane suggested he tried somewhere else, so he did.

The next place was robbed at gunpoint the day before open mic, and a few people were even killed by the culprits. It was tragic and even more horrible than the last one, especially since the first restaurant had gone down without hurting anyone!

John may have fallen into a bit of a depression at that point, and poor Jane simply didn’t know what to do with him. She joked that maybe his guardian angel had _fallen_ for him (“Get it, John? Fallen?”), but he didn’t think it was all that funny. It felt more like his “guardian angel” had _abandoned_ him.

Luckily, he ended up finding an ad in a newspaper asking for a janitor.

It wasn’t the first thing he would have picked, and certainly wasn’t anything desirable, but money was money. He called the number on the paper and set up an interview without so much as being asked for a resume, which, when he thinks back, should have been a bit suspicious.

However, he was just overjoyed that hey, maybe now he could have a source of income again! Whoop-dee-frickin’-doo!

So he went to the interview in a nice pair of pants and a button-up, though he didn’t really see what the point of dressing up was if he was only applying for a position as a janitor. Whatever, Jane wouldn’t stop harping at him about it anyways, so he guessed his dressy clothes would just have to do. He really, _really_ needed this job.

The building he was told to go to was out in the middle of nowhere, really. However, when he drove up to it he couldn’t help but gape. It was _huge_ and _fancy_ and oh crap, would he have to clean the whole _thing?_ Please, please, _please_ tell him they had other janitors on hand.

A bit nervous, he parked in the visitor’s parking lot, marked by a handy little sign proclaiming it as such, and made his way inside, feeling jittery and ashamed that he was only walking into such a high-end place for a _janitor’s_ position. Then again, who even put such a fancy workplace out in the middle of nowhere like this? Weren’t these sorts of places supposed to be in, like, New York and Boston and stuff?

He ended up having to talk to the pretty receptionist, who was civil enough, and then was escorted up into an elevator to one of the upper floors, where a man in a white suit awaited them, face strangely plain and head completely bald.

The interview was . . . weird. The man introduced himself as Doctor Scratch, and proceeded to ask John a bunch of riddles he didn’t understand that seemed to have a dark, highly personal context that would have made Rose very, very interested. Unfortunately, he wasn’t Rose, so he mostly felt awkward from the time he sat down to the time the Doctor announced John had the job.

John had asked if he was sure, but the Doctor insisted he knew what he was doing. It was weird, like _really_ weird, but John was too relieved at having a source of income to protest too much.

He started the very next day. Jane didn’t like it, said it was highly suspicious, and while he definitely agreed, he didn’t see himself having much of a choice.

So John went to work. It was pretty much the typical janitor job, just with creepy atmosphere and a few paranormal scares here and there. Sometimes he’d randomly fall asleep and wake up sprawled out on the floor, wondering, _What the heck?_ And every now and again he’d find objects had been misplaced or disappeared entirely around the halls and offices. It was kind of strange, but when he continuously reported his findings, everyone assured him it was normal here.

That was even weirder, and highly alarming, so John decided not to tell Jane.

Things came to another abrupt halt a few weeks later when Jane had a heart attack from working too hard. He rushed her to the hospital, making her promise to take it easier and have more vacation time when she needed. They were still living together at that point, so John told her he would make more of an effort to help with bills and food if she just let herself relax a bit.

She had to stay in the hospital for a while, and when she did come back, the bills were more atrocious than he thought. However, he didn’t say anything, just tried his best to stretch his money across food, bills, and hospital fees.

It didn’t really work out so well, and Jane ended up returning to her harrowing work schedule sooner than John would have liked.

Doctor Scratch heard about the news and offered John more work hours, which he gratefully took, thanking his boss over and over again. The Doctor just waved them off with a dismissive hand and politely told him to tell Jane to get better soon.

But that wasn’t the end of it. Only a month later, Jane fell asleep in the car and crashed it into a tree. Luckily, she came out alive, but the car was ruined and she was in intensive care at the hospital. John silently freaked, panicking to his long-distance buddies Rose and Dave, who offered their condolences. John ended up having to drain even more money to replace the car so he could continue driving to work (which he now sorely needed, gosh, they were so entrenched in debt it felt like they’d never be free citizens ever again). Meanwhile, Jane was completely comatose.

It broke his heart a little bit, going home and spending time by himself or visiting a sleeping Jane at the hospital. Made everything more lonely, more surreal and dark.

After a while, he became financially desperate. He couldn’t afford cable, so he had to cut it off. Electricity was a daunting task, and he’d actually had to go without a few times before the year ended.

Life sucked, and Doctor Scratch seemed to know it.

Like the devil he was, Doctor Scratch materialized while John was working and offered him a . . . proposition. Apparently, one of the Doctor’s “clients” had a thing for him. John, creeped out beyond anything else, politely declined the offer and went back to work feeling as though he’d throw up and ruin the newly-polished floor any minute.

He couldn’t talk to Jane about it, and it was too personal to discuss with Rose or Dave or Jade, so he kept it to himself for the time being. They’d just tell him to quit, anyhow, and he really, _really_ needed his job right then.

Things only became worse.

Because he had stopped paying for electricity entirely, his fridge no longer worked, and half of his food and all of his drinks except for tap water had spoiled. John always paid the hospital bills—and on time, too!—but they started sending him late notices, and when he called to protest or complain, they found his credit card company wasn’t paying. They claimed John had never placed a deposit or payment, but he knew he had.

It wasn’t going so good.

Doctor Scratch seemed to know this, and reappeared one day when John was working, nonchalantly announcing that his proposition was still open, and would be for . . . well, the foreseeable future.

John knew it was probably a bad idea. He _knew_ it. But he was hungry, he was tired, he was stressed and lonely and thought, _Why not? Some sex couldn’t hurt about now._ So he asked what this “client” wanted from him, exactly. Sex wasn’t the answer, surprisingly enough, but neither was physical labor.

Marriage was out of the question. He would _not_ be paid to marry some person he’d never met before. That was _way_ too skeptical, and besides, John believed in marrying for love _only._

So why, on his third week drinking tap water and eating Poptarts, did he find himself in Doctor Scratch’s office, asking what that so-called “client” was like.

Doc gave him an extremely vague, rather generalized overview, but John was able to gather that it was a young man. Sketchy, very sketchy, but somehow, knowing it was a male around his own age made John slightly more . . . relieved, he guessed. Not like there weren’t dangerous guys his age, but. At least it wasn’t some gross old man.

He asked if the client had money. The Doc snorted and said he wouldn’t have offered if the guy didn’t have enough cash to let John off the hook for the rest of his life.

He asked why him. The Doc just shrugged, asked why did _John_ think it was him.

He didn’t know, honestly. He honestly, totally, completely didn’t know or understand why any of this was happening, mourned and grieved and hated it all in equal measure, but he told the Doctor that he’d think more on it.

An expensive vase was smashed the next time he was working. John didn’t do it, but he was blamed. He didn’t have the money to replace it, either.

Doctor Scratch reminded him he had an option when John was seated in front of the man’s desk, and as John fidgeted and sweated and was generally making a nervous breakdown in the man’s office, Doc warned him that no matter what he decided, he should know that taking the client’s offer would be a permanent thing. As soon as John said “yes” there would be no backing out. If John had to die to keep to the client, then the Doctor said he’d kill Egbert himself.

He didn’t want to. He really, really didn’t.

But he accepted it anyway.

* * *

 

John forced himself to breathe past the lump in his throat. They were looking at him, every last person training their attention on him as he walked himself down the aisle.

It was strange, being the “bride” of the wedding. John could feel all the attention on him, a hushed silence as he ascended the dais and took his place opposite of Karkat. He had honestly always thought he’d be the groom at his own wedding, but apparently he would simply have to let go of that dream.

The preacher began to speak, but it was in _tongues_ of all things, weird and creepy and it made John shudder to hear it.

He turned to Karkat, who was facing him, though he couldn’t tell if the other was actually looking at him what with those large sunglasses on his face. This close, John could tell something was off about his husband-to-be. Obviously there had to be something anyway, since Karkat was covered head to toe, but now that John was only a few feet away, close enough to reach out and touch, it just felt like there was something more to this. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

By now he had completely tuned the strange preacher out, staring at Karkat with furrowed brows. He probably looked like a total weirdo, but he didn’t care.

His eyes ran over Karkat’s outline, duly noting the few locks of hair that escaped the scarf, black and silky-looking, the total absence of exposed skin, the expensive garments dawning his tall, wiry form. Karkat was actually an inch or two taller than John, which surprised him, since John, himself, was pretty up there. It was unusual for him to meet people taller than himself, but here Karkat was, radiating a quiet self-confidence as he stood facing John.

Scanning over his partner, John couldn’t help but feel like this man was somehow . . . maybe . . . familiar. It was an odd feeling to have, especially since John was positive he’d remember a name like _Karkat,_ but the longer he stared at the other, the more certain he became that he knew this man from somewhere else.

How was that even possible? John reminded himself he technically couldn’t see what Karkat _looked like_ yet, but his body was humming with the _yes, I know him_ feeling.

The worst thing was the longer his brain whispered it knew Karkat, the more he felt his body involuntarily relax. It was a gradual, slow process, with the preacher’s unknown language a background music, each individual muscle in his back and shoulders going unclenching or uncoiling one at a time. He shouldn’t be relaxing, he knew this. Strangers were staring up at him, _Karkat_ was probably staring at him, but it was almost as if he couldn’t help himself. His body trusted this man, which was as interesting as it was creepy, and it seemed to act outside of John’s will.

The preacher paused, and John’s ears quickly tuned back in when the man switched to English. “. . . John Egbert, do you take Karkat Vantas as your lawfully wedded husband?”

He wasn’t sure why, but hearing the preacher knew his name surprised him. “Uh, yes--I mean, I do.”

Preacher Guy nodded and switched back to his other language, talking fast and without pause. When he finally did break, John watched Karkat nod and say something along the lines of “ _Vesh ni’ine.”_

John guessed that was the unknown-language for “I do”.

More was said, but John was no longer listening. If this continued like a traditional Christian marriage, John figured he knew what would come next, though he couldn’t seem to keep his mind focused on the wedding at hand. Instead, it was fixated on Karkat’s face, on the husky, deep voice that had responded to the preacher only a second ago. His ears rang with the other’s voice, eardrums screaming _I know that voice!_ But he didn’t see how he could.

He honestly wasn’t sure what he was doing when he reached out towards Karkat. The other didn’t flinch, though he shifted away slightly, face hidden behind his makeshift mask. John, for whatever reason, was not deterred. His hand practically moved of its own accord, seeking Karkat’s face, brushing across the temple of the other’s sunglasses.

His ears picked up Karkat’s sharp inhale, and while his brain screamed in confusion at his body working against its orders, his fingers curled around the sunglasses and carefully pulled them away.

Fiery, inhuman eyes stared back at him, blazing with something loud and intense that John had no hope deciphering. The sclera was a fierce golden color, abnormal and so, so different; the irises were a red so deep, so bright, it almost hurt to look directly into the other’s eyes. And yet, despite John’s surprise, the bone-deep sense of familiarity only _increased._

“I know you,” John breathed ever so softly.

_What are you doing?_ His mind shrieked, alarms ringing through his skull. _How could you possibly know this guy? Look at his eyes! The rest of him is probably freakier than this! How could you know someone like this and not remember? How do you know he won’t kill you later for showing everyone his eyes? This man could be deadlier in his little finger than you in your whole body and you just touch him like you know and love him?! Are you insane?_

_Probably,_ he thought back to himself grimly.

Instead of dropping back to his side, his fingers continued onward to the gray skin— _Gray! What even?!_ —around Karkat’s eyes, thumb lightly drawing across the top of the man’s cheekbone.

He really needed to stop. Now would be good. But his fingers didn’t stop, they just stayed happily where they were, tingling everywhere they made contact with Karkat, his eyes trained on the other’s. John couldn’t tell how Karkat felt about John touching him, which was nerve-wrecking as heck, but the not-human didn’t seem to hate it, at the very least.

That had to count for something, right?

Preacher Guy cleared his throat, effectively startling John into splitting his attention between the preacher and Karkat. The preacher softly announced, in a voice that entailed he was now repeating himself, _“Osh dien larte’vez.”_

. . . Yeah, John had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

As it turned out, John didn’t need to know what it meant, because Karkat had him covered. The not-human-man slid forward, taking the wrist of the hand touching his face with one hand and wrapping his other arm around John’s waist, pecking him lightly on the mouth through his scarf. The fabric felt strange against his lips, rough and wool-like, and when Karkat pulled away to quiet applause, he found all the nerves in his lips felt as though they were rioting.

His eyes found Doctor Scratch in the crowd, who nodded once at him, and John quickly looked away.

A gloved hand pressed itself into his, Karkat gently tugging on it until John began to walk with him back down the aisle, the people in the pews turning to watch as they went. He was pretty sure most weddings didn’t end with the newlyweds leaving the church, but then again, they weren’t really a normal couple.

Once they were outside, Karkat dropped his hand, put his sunglasses back on, and gestured for John to follow, which John happily did. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go at this point.

Instead of leading him to a car, Karkat led him around the block, the sounds of the bustling city around them somehow comforting in light of recent events. They stopped in front of a clean-cut apartment complex with fancy cars more expensive than John parked out front, and when Karkat turned to approach it, John couldn’t decide if he was surprised or not. Doctor Scratch _had_ heavily implied his husband would be rich, so he guessed it only made sense.

John followed Karkat inside the building into a cold, spacious lobby. The floors were white and black tile, sparkling and polished, the walls a dark mahogany, the reception desk a beautiful black marble thing, sleek and shining under the bright light of the room. John could see a section of the second floor above, a narrow little hall with beautiful wrought iron-like railing on the side facing John and Karkat, the other side a normal wall lined with numbered doors.

He heard elevators dinging somewhere to the right, and up ahead, two back doors made more of glass than wood allowed him a glimpse of a concrete pathway out back. He wondered what was out there.

Karkat waved at the beaming receptionist, who chirped out a hello as they passed. John made sure to smile shyly at him, and saw the worker’s eyes widen slightly before he smirked. He probably thought Karkat was bringing him home to . . .

John’s cheeks reddened, but this probably wasn’t that different, he guessed. Karkat could very well expect them to . . . do it once they got up to his room.

It kind of worried him, to be honest. As they ducked into a section of hall to their right, facing a group of elevator doors with glowing numbers above them, John couldn’t help but agonize and ponder and imagine it. Having sex with Karkat.

What did he even look like? John knew he had gray skin and those strange eyes, but was his whole body gray? Did he have something weird down there? What else did John need to expect from this guy?

His eyes couldn’t help but flicker over to his new husband, eyeing his body, half-curious and half-anxiously.

At least Karkat looked like he had a decent body. It was hard to tell if he was muscular or not with his clothes in the way, but he didn’t seem to have anything wrong . . . other than the whole, you know, not being human thing. Of course, that could very well be why Karkat hid himself so well, to hide something even weirder . . .

The elevator doors finally pinged and opened, releasing a small crowd of chattering women. John and Karkat waited patiently for them all to get off before they stepped inside, the doors sliding shut after them. Karkat hit the button for the fourth floor, and the two of them stood in awkward silence all the way up. It was heavy and horrible—John had always hated silence, it was why he was always such a chatterbox—and he had to breathe a mental sigh of relief when the doors opened again and they walked out into the fourth floor hallway.

He followed Karkat down the hall and to room 416, fidgeting nervously as he waited for the door to be unlocked.

As soon as Karkat let him inside, his eyes were darting around the room, analyzing the interior and mentally comparing it to Jane’s house. It was obviously smaller than her house, being an apartment, but it was much, much cleaner.

The first room, the one he was currently standing in, seemed to be a cross between a dining room and a living room, with a long, dark wooden table full of chairs off to his left and a gathering of leather couches facing a large TV in front of him. To the left of the dining stuff, right before the TV was a narrow hallway that held a few closed doors John supposed were probably closet, bathroom, and bedroom. Behind all of that were sliding glass doors leading out to a balcony, but he couldn’t see the view from where he was standing. Off to his right was a tiny, but cute little kitchen, done up mostly in gray and black and metallic, the countertop a gorgeous granite and the floor what looked like stone.

John cautiously walked further inside and heard the door close behind him. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Karkat staring at him, gripping the door handle so tightly his glove molded to his knuckles.

“Is . . .” John swallowed quietly. “Is everything okay?”

Karkat nodded, but the movement was jerky and a little too fast. “Fine. Perfect. Peachy.”

Well, alright then. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, biting his lip. “So, um, h—are, uh, you going to take all of that—” he waved at Karkat, trying to indicate the scarf, shades, and gloves, “—off or . . . ?”

Though nothing he just said really specified what he was talking about, Karkat seemed to know instinctively and raised a gloved hand to the scarf covering his face. When he spoke again, his voice was slow and uncertain. “Are you sure you want me to do that? You saw a little of what I look like already, and I can promise it only gets more fucked up from there.”

John blinked, gulped again, squared his shoulders and said, “Yeah. I’m sure. I have a feeling you aren’t going to eat me no matter what you look like.”

Karkat nodded, but instead of unwrapping the scarf from his head, he carefully pulled his sunglasses off and laid them on the dining table. His glowing eyes found John’s, as if asking permission to continue, but when John didn’t do anything, he huffed and reluctantly peeled the gloves from his hands.

His hands were gray like the skin around his eyes, fingers long and callous, nails yellow and sharp like claws. Again, once the garment was off, his eyes flicked to John. And again, John didn’t react much except to curiously look over Karkat’s hands.

Growling, a sound that was low and rumbly and made the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand up, Karkat tore the scarf from his head, balling it up and throwing it onto the dining table with his gloves and sunglasses, hunching his shoulders and looking angrily at John as if to say, _I bet you regret this now, don’t you?_

Only, John couldn’t really say he did.

Karkat’s face was different, he’d give him that. It was more angular than John was used to, harsh and sharp in places that weren’t normal for humans, his lips puffy and black, his overbite causing a top row of white fangs to poke out between his lips. Candy corn-colored horns sat on top of his messy, dark hair, bright and short but pointed enough on the ends to hurt shoulder Karkat choose to head-butt anyone.

Honestly, John thought he looked kind of cool, and though he tried to linger on the horns, the fangs, the claws, _anything_ that should alarm him, he couldn’t dredge up anything but his intensifying certainty that he knew Karkat from somewhere, and with that certainty, a growing warmth that whispered this guy was _safe._ How his brain could come to that conclusion, especially in the face of fangs, horns, claws, and wicked growls, he didn’t know, but it was there and it was strong.

Cocking his head to one side, John’s legs slowly carried him closer to Karkat, who tensed, backing up into the door. He looked like he was ready to run or pounce, but he did neither as John moved ever closer, Karkat’s eyes never leaving him.

When John stopped, standing so close he might as well have been breathing Karkat’s air, he reached out and cupped the not-human’s cheek, staring up at him wonderingly.

He wasn’t scared of this man—this whatever. There was no fear inside of him, no uncertainty or worry or doubt. Just . . . this overwhelming feeling of knowing him. It was weird and John didn’t really understand it, but there wasn’t much to do but go with it at this point.

“Karkat,” he said, soft and warmer than he thought his voice could ever sound. Karkat sucked in a sharp breath.

"John."

"Have we met before?" It wasn't necessarily what he meant to say, but it was a good question. Or at least, he thought so until he saw the deer-caught-in-headlights look on Karkat's face. "We have, haven't we? It's just I can't get over how familiar you are. Um, maybe I'm just being weird though? I don't know. I just . . ." He dropped his hand and started back pedaling, hands held up instinctively to show he meant no harm.

Karkat's hand went back to the doorknob, flexing against the metal like he was having to physically struggle not to run away. "I know you. We haven't met before, but I know you."

John wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. "I . . . What?"

His husband took a breath, as if bracing himself, and spoke between clenched teeth. "We haven't met. I've only been here for a little while. But I know you, and if I feel familiar to you I guess your subconscious remembers me for fuck knows why."

This wasn't confusing him any less. What did he learn from this? He learned that Karkat was terrible at proper explanations. "Dude, that doesn't make any sense. How can we know each other if this is the first time we've met?"

Karkat couldn't seem to look at him anymore, his fierce eyes glowering at the kitchen. "Obviously, I'm not human."

John snorted, earning a glare from Karkat.

"Anyway," he continued, turning away from John again, "I used to be an angel. A guardian angel."

He waited, probably assuming John would interrupt again, but he was too busy gaping at Karkat. The angel didn't notice, as he was still looking away, so he continued onward.

"I wasn't very good at my job. I won't get into the details since I'm sure you don't care, but in Heaven, they give you three chances. I struck out three times, so I fell. Simple as that."

It took a few minutes for John to find his voice again, leaving the room submerged in thick, electrified silence. When he finally found his words, it felt as though he was fighting something sentient to be heard. "I . . . I still don't understand. Do all angels look like you? Aren't you guys supposed to be all sweet and not curse? And . . . And why would you marry me?"

Karkat tensed even more, if that was possible. "Angels don't look exactly like me, but yeah, we look pretty similar. Since I've fallen I started losing my angelic nature and appearance and becoming more demonic. I'm trying not to . . . But humans don't understand how difficult it is. Heaven didn't have anything bad or any shit to deal with, and Earth is fucking _drowning_ in it all. It's why just about every single fallen becomes a demon; we . . . It's hard, alright? It's hard and there's not a whole lot of others who understand."

". . . So why did you marry me?" John asked.

His shoulders bunched up around his face, knuckles going white against the doorknob. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, lips pressed tight together and eyes hard. However, eventually he deflated, leaning his weight back against the door, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I was your guardian angel, asswipe. Do you know what it feels like to watch a person from birth to adulthood? To protect them because they're too much of a dumbass to keep themselves out of danger? You form a bond with them, John. A spiritual _and_ emotional one. When I found out you were still around, I . . . Well, I can't help it. As far as I know, most guardian angels will do _anything_ to have that bond again, so there you have it."

"So . . . You're taking the role of my custodian through marriage?"

Karkat actually _shuddered._ "Fuck no! I would rather shove a rusty sickle up my nook and birth a plethora of disgusting blade-wrigglers than act as your shitty custodian!"

John made a face. "Gross! Who even uses the word 'plethora'? Just . . . Ugh. _Anyway_ , let's just go to bed, okay? I don't know about you, but I'm tired and I still have work on Monday."

"The sun is still up," Karkat pointed out, frowning at the doors to the balcony.

"Then I'm going to take a nap. Where do you want me to sleep?"

Karkat scowled at him for a few minutes, but John was serious when he said he wasn't scared of the angel. Karkat seemed to realize this and growled in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers and waving at the little hall. "Go sleep in my bed. It's the only one in the apartment and you'll be in the way if you sleep on the couch."

"Okay." He nodded, shuffling towards the hall.

"It's the very last door," Karkat called after him.

"Okay! Thanks!"

He thought he heard Karkat grumble out something, but he wasn't sure what, so he ignored it and opened the very last door at the end of the tiny apartment hall (if you could call such a small space a hall).

The bedroom looked like your average male's room—there was a large, messy bed in the center, without headboard or footboard, and pushed close to the wall, a curtained window next to it on the left. To the right of the door was a pair of wrinkled pajamas, and opposite of the bed was a small bookshelf full of romance novels and newspapers circled and marked up with Sharpie. The left side of the room held a dark, wide desk with a rolly chair pulled up to it, a nice laptop whirring on its surface, balled up papers littering the rest of the space, despite the fact that the waste bin was literally right next to it.

John closed the door behind him and stripped down to his boxers, folding his clothes into a neat pile and laying them on top of the bookshelf before he threw himself on the bed. Face-down in the sheets, he inhaled the smell of warmth and goodness before he realized that wasn't the laundry detergent, that was _Karkat_ he smelled. Immediately he flipped over on to his back, flushing.

Nice going, John. Because _that_ wasn't gay in the least.

He forced the thoughts out of his head, crawling under the covers and keeping himself face-up so he wouldn't do anything embarrassing like sniff the sheets or drool on the pillows before he closed his eyes.

It was comforting, being in his guardian angel's bed. John didn't think any more about why that might be; instead he fell into a dreamless asleep.

When he woke up again, the room was dark with night time and he had somehow rolled on to his side. The mattress creaked and groaned loudly, a gruff voice cursing as another body radiating warmth wormed under the covers. Looked like Karkat decided they might as well share the bed. John could be down for that.

Shrugging internally, John started to close his eyes again when he felt solid warmth curling around him. He opened his eyes when he felt hot, wet breath puffing against his neck, and with widening eyes, he realized Karkat was _spooning_ him.

_Relax!_ His brain exclaimed, _He's an angel! It's not like he's going to do anything. Karkat said there was nothing bad in Heaven, so he probably doesn't realize the implications of what he's doing. It's just a misunderstanding._

Yeah. Yeah, that was probably it. Karkat didn't know and he wanted to cuddle. That's all this was.

John started to relax again, because yeah. Just a misunderstanding. However, it certainly didn't feel like a misunderstanding all of a sudden when Karkat moved so his mouth was by John's ear and whispered, "I want to be inside of you."

Okay, okay. Just breathe. No need to freak out yet. Inhale, exhale. Do like that.

There wasn't an inch of Karkat's body that wasn't pressed against John's. His hot legs were tucked into the bend in John's, his hips and chest pressed flush around John's, arms circling John. Karkat's face buried itself in John's neck, and the human felt his angel inhale deeply and heard the dirty moan Karkat released.

So, okay, he'd admit it. John was aroused. But, in his defense, no one had ever acted like they could get off just on the smell of him before, and if Karkat's filthy noises were anything to go by, the angel was implying exactly that.

John had never had sex with anyone before. He had been hot and heavy with a few girlfriends, but Dad Egbert had raised a boy who was taught to wait for marriage, so that's what he had always tried to do. Now, however, he was married. He was married, he was aroused, and he was apparently wanted.

Slowly, so Karkat would know what he was doing, John reached a hand behind the angel's head, curling his fingers into dark, soft tresses. Karkat continued sniffing him and making hot noises, so John used his distraction to mentally brace himself before popping his hips back to press tightly to Karkat's.

Karkat choked, so John cocked his hips forward and did it again. And again. And again.

Karkat became a keening mess behind him, thrusting up into John and panting hard against him, licking and nipping and kissing at John's neck when he seemed to have enough of a brain to think about it. John was delighted in this response. No one had ever reacted to him like this before, as if they couldn't get enough, as if him touching them alone made them stop functioning. He loved it, so he continued.

"John," Karkat groaned, claws bunching into the sheets above John's stomach. "I'm dying. You're killing me."

"Let's see if we can't revive you," John whispered back. Oh man, that sounded so stupid. That was probably so dumb. He hoped he hadn't killed the mood.

However, the way Karkat hissed and thrusted back into him made him feel like Karkat was perfectly fine with John's stupid responses.

Rolling to face his angel, he noted that Karkat was only in a shirt and boxers, and the front of those boxers was wet with precome.

Holy crap. Karkat really, _really_ wanted him.

John was quick to rid him of his boxers and position himself between Karkat's legs, taking a bony gray hip in either hand and pinning them to the mattress.

"What . . . What do you think you're doing?" Karkat hissed. "Get back up here, you piece of shi— _iiiiiiiiiiiiiittt!_ "

John's lips enveloped Karkat's gray shaft, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed his head, pleased by Karkat's loud gibberish and flailing hands. Claws swept the back of his head and left to fist in the sheets, probably too scared he'd scrape or pull out John's hair or something, whimpering when John licked the vein on the underside of his cock.

_"Jooooooooooooohn,"_ Karkat groaned.

Honestly, John wasn't even that great at giving a blowjob. His lips and tongue felt clumsy against Karkat, and his mouth was already starting to ache from working Karkat's girth.

He separated from Karkat with a _pop_ , smacking his lips as the angel whined and moved to shove John's head back down. John batted his hands away and moved back up the angel's body, his erection accidentally brushing Karkat's through his underwear. They both hissed and jerked toward each other, moaning low.

"Take your atrocious human garments off this instant!" Karkat demanded, yanking at the waistline of John's boxers so hard they ripped.

Neither of them really cared at this point, too high on their own pleasure to think about the regret they'd feel tomorrow, John at sleeping with a practical _stranger_ and Karkat at having _sex_ of all things.

It didn't take long for them to descend into John grabbing their cocks and the two rutting against one another, noisy and desperate for a release. Karkat was the first to go, sinking his teeth into John's exposed shoulder to muffle his scream of ecstasy, and John, caught off guard but pushed over the edge by that display, came hard immediately following, orgasming so brilliantly he felt like he had shattered into pieces.

Instead, he came to in one piece, tears leaking his eyes and soaking Karkat's shirt, their shared come slathered over John's hand and their hips and torsos. Karkat's shirt was particularly disgusting, but the angel didn't seem to care. He simply held John close, chests pressed together and faces smooshed into each other's hair, breathing hard as they came down from their high.

After a while, John fell asleep like that, filthy and curled on top of his angel.

 


	2. A Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Karkat, I don’t mean to alarm you,” John mumbled, “But your body is trying to become a light bulb. And I think it’s succeeding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Johnkat day! I had wanted to do more to celebrate, like update all my stories or write a fluffy oneshot, but I had things to do for most of the day and it took me HOURS to write this update, so that's proooobably not going to happen.
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> More religious mentions in this chapter. This includes the Sabbath (*spoiler:* though I just thought it was an interesting idea. I just used it so angels could communicate to each other between Earth and Heaven on this day) and mentions of the Holy Spirit as it was used in the Bible at times (*spoiler:*entering a person to clean their soul).
> 
> ALSO WARNING: Mental illness used/addressed WHATEVER in this chapter. See end notes for more details if you're worried about it. I would put a little link to the bottom of the page for easier use, but I have no idea how to do that.
> 
> Also, bad beginning. I got pretty into it in the middle, though, so hopefully that'll be pretty decent. I'll admit, the "you" in this chapter is kind of obvious. Whoops.  
> And for some reason, THE STUPID CODE WON'T WORK TO TURN JOHN'S WRITING BLUE WHAT THE ACTUAL STUPID LOVEMUFFIN SHINDIG?!

John woke up to a heart that felt hollow and cold, as if a parasite had burrowed into the cardiac muscle overnight and had fled before John could wake up, leaving behind a gaping, bleeding hole.

His glasses weren’t on, so everything around him was a blur of various grays and muted color. Patting around with his hands, he found that 1) he was in a rather large bed, much larger than the one at Jane’s house. 2) He was alone, the space beside him dented where another body had once lain. 3) His boxers were around his ankles and his hips and torso were covered in dried semen.

He grimaced and moved to get out of the bed. John was able to stumble over to what appeared to be a bookshelf with his clothes on top of it—oh. Right, right. He remembered this now.

Last night he . . . did things with Karkat. A virtual stranger, one he had only just met yesterday, despite the fact that Karkat had acted as his literal guardian angel until recently.

Oh man. He actually sexed up a fallen angel. What if that had some sort of holy consequences? Like, what if he was going to go to Hell now because he “corrupted” an angel of the Lord? Was that a thing? Could that happen?

John bit his lip and wiggled into his clothes from yesterday, mind tumbling. He needed to ask Karkat about this, and possibly about why the angel had tried to have intercourse with him in the first place. It had been rather hurried and random, yes, but the more John thought on it, the less he understood why Karkat would try to engage in sexual acts with him. Wasn’t Karkat supposed to like, protect him and stuff? Didn’t have sex with the person you wanted to protect seem kind of . . . wrong?

Whatever. He could just go ask Karkat, wherever the guy was.

Why was that, anyway? In the movies the newly-sexified couples always woke up and cuddled together and were all cutesy. This was definitely not cuddly or cutesy, and while John _did_ feel not a small pang of regret at having sex with Karkat, he’d have much rather woken up all lovey-dovey than alone, even if it would have been slightly awkward.

Maybe Karkat didn’t care. Maybe Karkat was, like, sulking shamefully in a corner somewhere.

John decided to leave his shoes, socks, shirt, and suit jacket off for now, instead opting for trousers and his glasses before wandering out of the bedroom to see if he could find Karkat in the living room or kitchen.

Karkat ended up standing on the line where the carpet ended and the tile of the living room and kitchen respectively began (or maybe it was the other way around), his back to John, elbows folded in such a way that Egbert could guess his husband was holding something up to his mouth. He was dressed, too, in what looked to be pressed black dress pants, shiny dress shoes, and a white button-up shirt. It was too perfect an opportunity, really, and while John might have now been an adult, the Egbert prankster’s gambit was an inherited trait that would never leave him.

The floor was carpeted, but John Egbert, Master Prankster and Super-Awesome Friendleader would take no chances. He tiptoed, every step careful, light, not allowing his feet to slide across the floor or rest too heavily. Karkat never bothered to turn around and look at him, which John counted as a success for his amazing stealth skills.

He was almost directly behind Karkat, ready to do something—anything, maybe yell, maybe jab his fingers into the angel’s ribs—when Karkat’s flat voice announced, “Egbert, I swear to the holiest of angels _if you do_ what I think you’re going to do, I can and _will_ lock you in the bedroom with nothing but the oldest, most boring Bible I can possibly find until you can recite the entire thing with your eyes closed.”

John pouted but dropped his hands, moving around so he could stand face-to-face with Karkat. If he wasn’t mistaken, Karkat’s eyes dipped down briefly, running over his exposed torso before flashing back to John’s eyes, cheeks dusted lightly and eyes a tad darker.

Well, they did sleep together last night. It was only to be expected they would feel a bit more  . . . _something_ towards the other’s body, right?

“Mornin’ to you too,” John greeted with a goofy grin.

“Good morning,” Karkat muttered into a steaming mug, lifting it up until it hid his mouth and chin.

There was a slightly awkward silence, but it barely survived for a whole second before John was opening his mouth to speak again. He couldn’t help it; he _hated_ this sort of silence! “So, uh . . . why are you wearing that? Are you going somewhere already?” His eyes darted to the digital clock on the microwave, catching the digital numbers _8:16._

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to wake up before I got back.” Karkat shrugged, mug descending so John could once again see those black lips and pointed chin, flashbacks to those same lips pressing against his ear and neck last night invading his mind. _Stop! We’ll deal with that later!_ “I’m heading off to the church.”

“Church?” John parroted, until he realized that yeah, Karkat was an _angel._ Of course he would go to church. Duh.

Karkat shot him a look that read along the same lines, rolling his fiery eyeballs before explaining, “If I go to holy grounds on the Sabbath—and just so you know, yes, churches are holy grounds. Yes, the Sabbath is Sunday—I can talk to the angels and God in Heaven. It’s the only time and place we can communicate, so I fully plan to use and abuse the privilege, thanks.”

“Oh! Cool! Can I come?”

Another incredulous look. “John, you don’t even have any clothes yet. No, you can’t fucking come. Just stay here for right now and go back to sleep or something.”

"Oh yeah," he deflated, shoulders slumping and lips twisting into a frown.

Karkat looked away from him. "I'll be back soon enough. Feel free to shower and wear anything that suits your fancy in my closet. It's all casual wear."

"Thanks."

John guessed they weren't going to talk about last night after all. It was disappointing and a bit alarming; his father had always taught him that communication was key to any close relationship, and here he was years later, not properly communicating with his spouse.

Maybe . . . Maybe he should bring it up?

"Um, Karkat," John started awkwardly, fumbling for words. He needed to say something, he knew it, but when the angel trained those fiery eyes on him and his words slid through the air between them, his heart began to pound with reluctance and uncertainty. What if Karkat didn't _want_ to talk about it? What if there was something here John wasn't seeing? Something important?

It had happened in the middle of the night . . . So what if it had all been a dream?

But no. John woke up _naked_ for Pete's sakes! Why else would his underwear be around his ankles in the morning? They definitely _did stuff_ last night.

"Are you going to spit it out or are you going to continue opening and closing your mouth like a bulge-sucking sex worker?" Karkat demanded, cutting into John's thoughts.

He felt himself go hot. Gosh, please don't be blushing. Please don't be blushing. "Uh, yeah, about that. Do, er, you remember last night?"

The angel's face went cold for the first time since John had met him, expression hardening. Cruel and closed off and deadly, and while some would have been frightened, John was just . . . hurt. Somehow, he had the feeling that Karkat was throwing him out of the angel's soft spots.

"What about it?" Karkat questioned, voice strangely emotionless, eyes flicking away from his.

"I . . . Just, um. Are you attracted to me?"

Oh no. No. John did not just blurt that out. He did not say that aloud to the husband he just met yesterday.

But oh, he did! Karkat's eyes were widened and his whole body seemed to freeze in place, breath held and everything. All of it was bad, very bad, warnings shrieking through John's head and yet he just kept _talking._

"I mean, we are married, so it's perfectly fine, and I'm assuming if you were open to sex with me you couldn't be _repulsed_ by my looks, but. I was just curious. Like is sex going to be a thing we're going to keep doing? Because _I_ wouldn't mind if it was, and—and I'm going to try really hard to shut up now. Haha." It was the worst fake laugh he had ever tried for, but Karkat still hadn't recovered from his shock enough to react.

This is why John couldn't keep secrets. It took no time at all for them to build and build and compress until John spewed everything on his brain right out. Boy, he had really dug himself a fit little grave this time around.

But gosh, he really didn't want to screw this up. Karkat was an angel—a _guardian_ angel. _His_ angel. This guy was supposed to be a good guy, and what's more, John's lifelong husband! What would it mean if he ruined a relationship with a person like Karkat? How would they be able to do marriage things or live together peacefully?

"I—" Karkat closed his mouth, swallowed, and opened it again. No sound came out. He ran a hand over his face, carefully not looking at John, before ducking his head and turning to walk towards the door.

Crap. No, no, no! He couldn't leave yet! This was Bad! Very Bad! John needed to stop him right now and fix this!

John opened his mouth and tried to say something, _anything_ , but he couldn't think of anything to say but "Karkat", which helped absolutely no one. His throat constricted as he watched Karkat hurriedly put on his scarf, sunglasses, and gloves, leaving the apartment in a rush of fly-away hairs and hidden eyes.

Great. Only a few hours in, and John had already made his husband flee his own apartment.

* * *

 

You slept through your alarm again.

You could hear it ringing distantly, your brain sluggish, heavy as you dragged yourself to the annoying shores of consciousness, where the world was too bright, too ignorant of its own vicious flaws.

Lifting your head from your pillow was a struggle, gravity and exhaustion weighing on your skull, trying to force it back down into the puddle of drool you created as you slept. You paid it no true attention; instead you focused on the grating blare of your alarm clock, screeching high-pitched and awful right into your ear.

You tore its plug from the wall and chucked it across the room with no shame or remorse, sighing when you heard a sickening crack, and then merciful, beautiful silence.

That, of course, wouldn't last long, and you knew it.

With no small amount of difficulty, you pushed yourself up, blinking and sleepy, eyes lazily running over your room.

Bright morning light was carefully blocked by thick black curtains, painted in grey creyllic by your own hands. The curtains kept your room dark enough as to make it hard to see, only the familiar outlines of your furnishings, messes, and hanging decorations communicated to your eyes.

You sat up, the world swaying with the movement. Fuck, you were exhausted. Sleep sounded extremely tempting, even given the important events that would need your diligent guidance today.

A series of knocks came from the other side of your bedroom door, probably to make sure you were finally awake and getting ready.

"Go the fuck away," you growled at the knocker.

The noise stopped, the world falling silent once more. Peaceful. Thank the merciful heavens.

You really needed a Tylenol.

* * *

 

John fidgeted awkwardly in the mirror, unable to keep eye contact with his own reflection for too long despite the whole thing being completely ridiculous.

He was wearing Karkat's clothes, nothing fancy, just a black long-sleeved shirt with the Cancer symbol stitched into the front, a bit big but comfortable enough. The pants, at least, fit him: simple gray skinny jeans that kind of surprised John. He wouldn't have pegged Karkat as a skinny jean guy, but honestly, how much did he _really_ know Karkat? John just met the guy yesterday, for Pete's sakes!

Even if they did engage in some rather riské activities.

That thought sent blood furiously running up to John's neck and face, noticeably reddening in the mirror. Gosh, he couldn't believe he had actually said all that earlier. What had he been thinking?

Trick question. He wasn't.

With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and exited the bathroom, flicking the lights off as he went. The apartment was strangely silent without Karkat, almost creepily so. It was lonely and foreign to wander about it like John had done earlier, and to be perfectly honest, he really wanted to go outside and leave here until Karkat returned. If the angel was willing to talk to him anymore.

He missed his sister. With everything going on, he hadn't had the chance to visit Jane since last week, and though he knew she wouldn't speak, he really wanted to see her.

Oh, why not? He didn't have anything else to do, and Karkat wouldn't be back for at least an hour.

Just in case the angel returned before he did (John had no idea how long Karkat's church's sermons were or if the angel stayed for life group), John grabbed a sticky note off the kitchen counter and a blue pen, scribbling a quick message and sticking it to the microwave door. Should be obvious enough.

went to the hospital to visit somebody. feel free to come over if you want! don't wait up!

-john

He hoped that wasn't too curt or desperate. John really had no idea how relationships were supposed to work.

It didn’t take much time for him to grab his wallet, keys, and phone from his discarded slacks in Karkat’s room, and took even less time for him to exit the apartment, strangely relieved when he found himself in the hall outside.

John only realized he didn't have an apartment key when the front door closed behind him. The door was locked when he tried it, which sucked, 'cause he'd have to wait for Karkat before he could go back inside. Oh well. He'd just have to waste more time visiting Janey.

The receptionist gave him a knowing wink as he left the complex, which was embarrassing as anything, but he just blushed and hurried outside.

It was warm, the type of unrelenting heat that suffocated and smothered a person, but with a slight crisp edge hinting at the coming fall. John, unfortunately, had left his car parked in front of the church yesterday, so he was forced to trot down the block in a black long-sleeved shirt. Suffice to say, by the time he actually reached his vehicle he was dripping sweat and panting like a dog.

The closest hospital was an older St. Jude’s, a building that was conveniently placed between Karkat and Jane’s homes, easily found from either starting point. This was particularly awesome because John sucked at navigation and might have just made himself completely, totally lost had the hospital been located in a part of town John didn’t visit much. Thankfully, it was just a few streets from Taco Bell, a cheap and reliable source of fast food when one couldn’t afford anything fancy.

He parked outside and started for the entrance, feeling both comforted by the familiar sight of the hospital, standing there all stone and glass and wood, knowing his sister was sleeping safely inside, and at the same time, he felt kind of . . .

In the wake of yesterday, of getting married to an oddly nice (if not potty-mouthed and ridiculously easy to read) angel and having an inappropriate moment of fun with said angel, John had forgotten just how lonely it was back in his normal life. He knew it had only been for a day, and thinking like this was probably stupid, but somehow he hadn’t ever realized just how alone he was without Jane or Dad. All of his friends and other relatives could only be reached through phone or internet, leaving his family the only true source of reliable social interaction he had, so without them, he couldn’t help but feel a bit like an island staring at the distant mainland's coastline.

No one even knew he was now married. Not his friends, not his family . . . just him and Karkat and his boss.

It was a little depressing, actually.

The inside of the hospital was as John remembered it: freakishly clean, blue and white tiles ugly, pink cushioned chairs loud and squeaky. A nurse John didn't know but whom he had seen there multiple times before and never so much as cracked a smile sat behind the ugly counter, typing something into a desktop computer.

John approached her, murmuring who he was and who he was here for, but the woman waved him off disinterestedly.

Shrugging to himself, he followed the familiar path to the elevators, patiently waited for a pale couple to step off before entering the elevator with an old man clutching a cane and a young mother holding the hand of a sleepy child.

John asked for their floors, punching in his floor (12), the mother's (14), and the old man's (5) without further comment or word.

It was always weird for him to stand with strangers when he came here; despite his social personality, he could never think of anything to say, didn't know if the other person really _wanted_ him to attempt conversation. He knew when he visited Jane those first few times he had wanted nothing to do with anyone else. Honestly, he probably wouldn't have been able to carry on a normal conversation if he'd wanted to. Talking with strangers was a task for people who were okay, and back then, John had been anything but.

He still wasn't sure if he was one-hundred percent alright now, but he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind.

A ping and the elevator doors opened, revealing a hallway of the sixth floor. They watched the old man hobble out of the elevator in silence, uncomfortable and tense in the short space they shared.

The doors closed, and once again, they were ascending.

* * *

 

You shoved your feet into some beat-up converse, makeup artful in its placement on your face, essentials dumped into your pockets and hidden in your socks, some even strapped to your chest under your shirt or clipped in your hair, the surrounding locks gelled and styled to hide the items.

It was all you needed to start a successful day, so with one last look in a mirror to make sure your expression was perfect in its unassuming innocence, you were out the door.

Your neighbor, a kindly old woman without any annoying pets and an obvious penchant for gardening was on her front yard tending to her bushes. Her insistent generosity could be irritating, but not only did she make an excellent cover when you needed one (she was under the impression you were a nice boy who valued privacy. Ha. Ha.), but the food she sometimes cooked and delivered to your family was exquisite. There was probably no one who could cook a casserole like your neighbor.

She spotted you when you turned to close your front door, calling your name and waving. You forced a smile and waved back, calling, "How's the garden, my lively sister?"

"Oh you!" She giggled, beaming. "You're such a sweetheart! It's going great, thank you!"

"As it should be. These motherfu—er, miraculous buds must know the sis takin' care of them deserves all kinds of blooms."

It was always too easy to charm women like her. She smiled and waved you off again, her face noticeably pinker. You knew she loved hearing that kind of stuff, no matter how she pretended you were just being nice.

"Now, now, enough about me! I'm sure you have things more fun than sweet talking old women like me planned!"

That you did. You wondered what she would do if she knew what you considered "fun".

With a fake chuckle, you started walking to your car—a spacious black vehicle with four-wheel drive and a habit for draining gas quicker than your shower drain could take water. "Nah. The brothers and sisters I hang with aren't nearly as cool as you, Mrs. Robinson."

"I doubt that! But thank you!"

You opened the car door and slid into a dark, cool interior, slamming the door shut so you weren't forced to keep chatting. Aggravating old hag.

On days like today you typically had no specific places you wanted to go, but that didn't stop you from parking the car out front a busy place like Walgreens or Wal-Mart and taking to wandering about town on foot. Generally, this way you could always find _someone_ easy enough to take out to drinks or escort to your home, but sometimes on a blue moon you would have to use force.

You never, ever returned without another. The first and only time you did that, there was hell to pay, and you didn't want to experience that shit ever again.

As you drove, you felt yourself become more and more awake, more aware of the world. With that awareness came the strings of the _others_ , no words or whispers or laughs just yet, but the knowledge of their presence in the back of your mind was strong. They watched through your eyes, their own vision coinciding with yours, turning your all too human visual of the world brighter, more intense.

 _Shit_. Usually you could drive out and be in a parking lot before it got to this point, but you must have spent too much time dawdling at the house this morning.

That was bad. It was so much harder to focus when they woke up; it was one of the reasons you traversed town on foot instead of driving everywhere. They liked to clutter your brain and say things just to set you off or pressure you; things you would end up doing anyway, yeah, sometimes, but things that would be too suspicious if you acted on them right there and then.

Soon they would start commenting and suggesting and talking. Motherfuckers didn't know how to keep quiet for anything.

 _Don't speak of me like that_ , the Angry One growled.

It's the truth, brother. Deal.

 _We are not petty mortals like you motherfucking fools,_ He hissed, _We are much greater, more mirthful. We are the reason you are even still alive. You are blessed to have us, and what's more to be allowed our words in your sinful thinkpan._

You had no comment to that, so you didn't rely to Him. Your brother and father told you the same thing every day, so how could you argue?

 _That's what I thought,_ the Angry One smugly replied.

 _You should not be so hard on the mortal,_ the Righteous One commented. _He isn't smart enough to know of our miraculous ways._

 _Honk!_ the Clownish One agreed.

 _Blasphemous son,_ the Angry One spoke, _Go and feast upon the delicious Faygo._

You couldn't. They didn't sell Faygo anywhere but at a specific gas station in town, and that station just so happened to be far behind you now.

**_I demand a mirthful drink, motherfucker._ **

You didn't want to, but the other two began clamoring for Faygos as well, so with clenched teeth and narrowed eyes, you U-turned and made your way back, pulling in to the locally owned gas station.

Your tank was full, so you didn't bother refilling; instead you parked out front of the building and walked on in, politely greeting the bored-looking female at the register. She didn't return your salutations.

 _Kill her,_ the Angry One snarled.

You could not. She was working, and there were other people--and security cameras--in the room.

_Kill that motherfucker!_

_Beat her, scrap her disgusting flesh from her muscles, delight in her screams and keep her breathing until she is nothing but a body without the organ known as skin._

_Strip her of everything she holds true and dear in the name of the True Messiahs._

Shut up! You couldn't!

You resisted the urge to shake your head as you walked back to the drink selection, choosing a grape Faygo at random and returning to the register. The female rung you up with an unimpressed look and demanded, "One twenty-five."

A hand dove into your pocket, and you grumbled as you fished for your wallet, giving the girl two dollars.

As she counted out your change, you found yourself caving to the screaming demands of the Angry One.

"Would you like," you started as she handed you a handful of coins, "To join this motherfucker for a bitchtits good time?"

The girl gave you a flat look. "No."

Well, fuck. You tried for a dopey, disarming grin. "Aw, man. You sure, sis? You look like you could use a wicked time."

"I'm sure," she answered curtly, pushing your change in your direction.

Disappointed and irritated— _Murder her! Murder them all!—_ you took the money from her and left, exhaling a breath as you unscrewed the top of your Faygo. What a little bitch. She couldn't even act nice about rejecting you? You were positive that you had acted perfectly friendly and inviting.

A Taco Bell was standing open and tempting next to the gas station, and you found yourself drifting over, peering into the glass for a different target.

_Kill all of these motherfuckers. None of them deserve to live._

No one was sitting alone. No one looked like they could use a hug or anything. Damn.

You moved on, searching for someone. Someone to chat with, manipulate. Someone who could be easily taken and totally, utterly _destroyed._

* * *

 

Jane looked so frail in her hospital bed, pale and skinny (when had she become so thin? She had never been this small before) and delicate, like if you looked at her too long she would break.

John hated it. He almost couldn't stand to look at her like this, so . . . so defeated, he guessed. So un-Jane.

It sickened him. He wanted _his_ Jane, _his_ sister back and beside him again, laughing and scolding him for being an idiot. He wanted Jane to know and acknowledge and help him with the world again, to tell him what to do and that it was okay and she would help him and he wanted to tell her he was so grateful for everything and that he was so, so sorry.

She didn't deserve to end up like this. Jane was lively, generous, and independent. Not this twig-like corpse lying in a hospital bed, aging and withering away.

He hated it. So he left.

John hadn't expected the sight of Jane in the throes of comatose to bother him so much; he visited her all the time, usually, and it had already been at least a year since she ended up here. But it did. It really, really bothered him.

He couldn't go back to the apartment complex without a key or Karkat, and he didn't want to go home or to Jane's house alone, however, so he sat out front of the hospital instead, hugging his knees to his chest.

It was slowly approaching noon already, sun lifting high and hot into the sky, drenching John in sweat and emotion-induced shivers.

Sitting there, shuddering and sweaty, he couldn't help but wish his life wasn't a big drama. John had never liked dramas or romantic things; he was a man of action and comedy and adventures that led to self-discovery. This, though, this was none of that. Okay, so maybe a bit of a mental and emotional adventure, but not a very good one! It sucked. It sucked and he didn't like it.

And so what if he was just being bitter or dumb? John thought he deserved a moment of self-pity, thank you very much.

He was staring at the road in front of him, eyes down and position small and defensive, hoping no one would bother him. John was sitting in a hospital for heaven's sakes; surely everyone could get the message that he didn't want to talk about it.

Unfortunately, that wasn't apparently the case. A pair of purple converse went out of their way to stop in front of him, turning so the toes were pointed his way. John didn't bother looking up.

"Uh, you okay my motherfuckin' bro?" A deep voice questioned, his volume unpredictably fluctuating, which was really weird in itself, though John just ignored it for now.

"Fine," he answered the man tersely. "So feel free to leave me alone."

The shoes paused thoughtfully for a second before disappearing from view. John was about to sigh in relief, but his relief was cut short by the sound of grass rustling right next to him.

"That isn't leaving me alone," he called irritably.

"You don't really up and look like you need to be alone, brother. Why don't you talk to me about it? Get it off your blood pusher so you can get all the shit out and make room for miracles."

John went quiet for a few minutes, reluctant and unsure how to respond. When he did speak again, the words seemed to part his lips without his brain's consent. "I'm not sure if I believe in miracles."

"Aw, don't be like that. Miracles are all around us! Just look at the softness of this green stuff, or the way the sky's cloudless and open up to us all like a big blue hug. Motherfuckin' miracles everywhere, dawg. You just aren't looking." The man sounded so certain and content that John was actually a bit envious. This guy probably didn't have _his_ sibling in the hospital.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" John snapped.

"Nah. This brother has all the time in the world."

He had to be high. There was no way a sober person would say this kind of stuff and mean it.

"Dude, I don't know what you're smoking, but I really just want to be alone. I don't have the energy to deal with this right now," he said, rubbing at his temples without looking over.

There was silence for .03 seconds. "You want me to buy you something and get your mind out of this funk?"

"No, I—" oh, what the hell? Why not? John could probably use something to either calm him down or make him forget. Knowing it was around noon didn't mean anything to him. "You know what? Why not? I'm in."

Finally, for the first time since they started to talk, John looked over at the other man. The guy was an absolute _freak show_ , and while he knew Dad would scold him for thinking like that, it was true. He had on gray and white face paint like a horrific parody of a clown's; dark, messy hair; black pajama-like bottoms with gray circles all over it; a high, out-of-it smile; and a black shirt with an unfamiliar purple symbol on it.

John was torn between running away as fast as he could or pretending the guy was normal.

The man rose to his feet, still smiling, and offered John a tanned, calloused hand. "Name's Gamz."

Moment of truth. The road was right there, and though his car was at the back of the lot, enough people were milling around out here to cause some problems for Gamz should the guy chase him. This man could be dangerous. John didn't know anything about him, and freaks were everywhere these days.

He swallowed, put his hand in "Gamz"'s, and allowed the weirdo to pull him up. "I'm John."

Gamz's smile widened and John couldn't help but feel as though he had made a terrible mistake.

* * *

 

It wasn't hard to get John drunk. Sure, it took a might chunk of cash from your wallet, but it was much less than it had been for some of your other . . . works.

By the third drink, it was deliciously obvious that John had never delved into the world of alcohol and intoxication, and by the fourth drink, he was blabbing his whole life story to you. Nothing you haven't heard before: spoiled kid loses both parents, has no idea what to do in the world without hands constantly guiding him, sister gets into an accident, the loser doesn't want to work off the bills so he marries a rich guy who is most likely (though John never said this himself) is a sex-crazed geezer.

You honestly couldn't wait to take him home. People like John were the best; kids who had it all, lost it, and now think they're the most miserable people on the planet. You despised people like John.

After a few more drinks, John started to cry quietly. You were glad he wasn't a wailer, and you "politely" offered to drive him home. He was too inebriated to agree or disagree, and too outside the world to realize how weird it was that a stranger was driving him home when said stranger didn't get anything out of it.

He expressed slight confusion when you rolled up to your house and not his, but you simply shushed him and he followed you in.

In fact, the whole thing was laughable. He didn't express any concern when you led him by the shoulder into the basement, the pathetic cool still crying and stumbling down the stairs, and didn't appear alarmed at all until you shoved him into the wall. He screamed then, terrified as you grabbed his head and beat it into the wall behind him until he shut up. Then he went limp, unconscious, and you took the chance to tie him up into a chair in the corner of the room and duct tape his mouth shut.

You'd have to make sure to wash his skin when this was over with, but it was a small price to pay for a little bit of fun before the real event started.

The last present was still on the exam table when you lifted the sheet, flies collecting and eating away the innards, decomposing arms spread wide like the motherfucker was getting ready to embrace the mirthful messiahs right before he died.

Like that fucker would be granted permission to hear the Vast Honk.

You pulled on your gloves, cheap latex things made for cleaning the house, but ones that worked nonetheless. You moved to start cleaning up the last project, but the Righteous One whispered an idea to you that you couldn't quite refuse.

 _Leave the body there,_ He said, _And let John see what you're going to up and do to his sinning vessel._

You tried to picture the overwhelming fright that would enter John's face, wondered if he'd be a pants-wetter or not. The thought made your grin.

Why not? It sounded like a great idea to you.

Humming happily, you turned away from the body to instead focus on the holy utensils, bloody from the last work. You picked up one of the scalpels, eyeing the tip for a minute and deciding that yeah, these would need to be sharpened before their next use.

There was a sink in the basement, so you began meticulously taking a handful of tools over and using a small sponge to clean the old and dried blood from the blades and handles, a work that was much longer and required more vigorous scrubbing than you would have liked. So long was it that John began to wake up with many a grunt by the time you were cleaning up your last batch.

The first thing he saw was you, and his astonishingly blue eyes (eyes you might have to keep for yourself) widened, muffled words and yells catching on the tape at his mouth. He tried his arms and legs, made more noise when he found them restrained, and screamed when he noticed the slowly-rotting body on your exam table. You continued humming as he did, smile widening and growing more genuine. As much of a chore as it all was, you did enjoy this part.

A lot.

"Can't understand what you're spilling out with that tape all up on your mouth, Johnbro." You told him giddily, turning to smile at him over your shoulder.

He whimpered.

You chuckled and turned back to your work.

With the cleaning out of the way, you moved on to the next very important step: sharpening. You skillfully and quickly set up your vise, sharpening stones, and procured your half-used bottle of lubrication, setting to work on your various tools, switching stones when you moved from scalpels to knives. Your hooks, you thought, looked just fine, so you didn’t bother any with them.

Your guest of honor continued whimpering and shouting into the tape at his mouth, pathetic to hear and more so to gander at when you glanced back at his trembling form in the chair.

If you grinned when you turned back again, well, you could only hope he saw it.

* * *

 

John wasn’t sure if he had ever been this scared in his entire life. Horrifically, he wasn’t sure if he had even been this scared outside the emergency room, waiting to find out the news on Jane’s condition after her crash.

Watching an obviously experienced killer clean and sharpen blades was sickening, frightening even more when said killer continuously turned around and smiling madly upon seeing the hostage’s fear. And when Gamz turned and began to do away with the body on the table, slowly taking it apart and placing a few limbs in large buckets scattered across the floor of the basement, so slowly that John was positive he was doing it just to scare John even more? He almost fainted.

Unfortunately, he stayed wide-eyed and awake the whole time.

The dried blood was cleaned up with baby wipes—he’d never be able to look at those the same again--and a washcloth soaked in antiseptic cleaning solution, the body’s flesh carefully dabbed and washed with soap and water from another bucket.

If John thought he hated seeing Jane in her hospital bed, he loathed watching a decimated corpse getting picked apart and cleaned.

While Gamz was busy carefully wiping a severed arm down, a shadow flitted down the stairwell. John’s attention immediately went to the dark staircase, heart gunning, mind racing, _No, no! Not another one, please!_  Only, when his eyes actually _looked,_ peering, scared, and maybe just a bit tearful . . .

There was no one there.

He dismissed it, eyes snapping back to Gamz, who looked up at him at the same time, strangely vibrant blue-purple eyes locking with John’s blues. Gamz gave him another crazy, petrifying grin, and John felt bile rise in the back of his throat.

There had been a few moments in his life, especially since Dad died, where John was sure he couldn’t go on. Where he was almost certain that it would be the end of him. None, not one, could hold a candle to the nauseating realization he had now: he was going to die. He was going to be killed in an insane man’s basement, Karkat and his friends and distant family never knowing what became of him, Jane never having another visit and possibly waking without any family left in the world. Here, right here, in only a few minutes, John would replace the corpse on the table and would become the new carcass.

He wouldn’t leave this room alive and breathing.

The last pieces of human body had disappeared off the table, and with a glint in his eyes, John watched “Gamz”—if that was even the guy’s real name—saunter closer, predatory and excited. This guy, this sicko, was actually _excited_ that John was going to die here.

Another shadow moved behind Gamzee, came closer and closer until--oh sweet baby Betty Crocker cakes, that was _Karkat!_

How that was possible, John didn’t know, didn’t care, because his guardian angel was here, and while that should have made him relieved and warm, and half of him very well was, the other half just became even more frightened. His husband and he were in the basement where no one would know to look for them with a _killer._

John tried not to look at Karkat, who was rapidly approaching Gamz— _That stupid idiot! Run away!_ —so as to not expose him, but it was so hard when Gamz was looking at John like a piece of meat, thick and juicy and ready to be eaten. It was terrifying to keep his eyes on the devil when there was an angel right there, a beacon of goodness and safety _right there._

Karkat suddenly pounced, and John could only watch in horror as the angel darted forward, poking Gamz’s back, and—and Gamz completely froze. The clownishly-painted mouth dropped open, blue-violet eyes widening in horror and awe and realization, muscles tensing, and then the guy fell to his knees and tore at his hair and started to scream, _“I’m a monster! I killed them! I killed all of them!”_

The angel cooed and ran a clawed hand through Gamz’s thick, dark hair, frowning and reaching behind the killer’s head to undo a leather strap (what? What even?) and fling a knife off to one side, Gamz gravitating and burying his face in Karkat’s stomach as he shrieked and sobbed.

John could only stare on in confusion and numbness, because what? What did Karkat just do? Why was a monster of a killer hugging his husband, and why was his husband allowing it?

“It’s okay,” Karkat soothed the balling Gamz.

But no, it wasn’t okay. John was tied to a chair in a basement, shaking with fear, exhausted and numb and shocked and had been ready to be _viciously murdered_ on the table right in front of him and had seen the obviously-tortured remains of a stranger he hadn’t known. Nothing was okay. No part of this was alright, or “okay”, or decent, or anything _but_ not okay.

Karkat’s inhuman eyes raised to John’s, the concern there blatant, even as he continued carding gray fingers through the murderer’s hair. “John, are you alright?”

He started to answer, but he forgot about the duct tape covering his mouth, so he stopped and just sort of blankly stared at Karkat, because despite everything and all the turmoil clashing inside of him, he couldn’t seem to dredge up any emotions to show the rest of the world.

The angel made a face and began moving towards him, Gamz shuffling along on his knees with his arms wrapped around Karkat, face hidden in Karkat’s torso. When they reached John, Karkat carefully but quickly undid the binds and then paused, whispering, “This is going to hurt a bit,” before ripping the duct tape away from John’s mouth.

He was right. It hurt a lot, but all John could do was voice a half-hearted “ow” and slump back into his chair.

“John,” Karkat said softly, one hand still on Gamz’s sniffling head, “Come here.”

The human looked at the angel above him and then at the killer hugging him, and fear and bile and horror and confusion all bubbled up in an intense mess of emotion and John shook his head. He couldn’t do it. No, he couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ get that close to—to the guy who tried to—

“Do you trust me?” Karkat asked.

John couldn’t speak; his throat was constricted, tight, so he just nodded.

“Then come here.”

No. The killer was down there, close and any closer would be too much. He could barely even look at Gamz without wanting to run to a trashcan or toilet.

Shuddering, John shook his head and huddled in on himself, arms around himself.

Karkat frowned, wrinkles forming between his brows, but he backed off and gave John some room. He didn’t really want it, to be honest. The closer Karkat was, the safer he felt, but the murderer was with the angel, and he didn’t—couldn’t—no. Just . . . no.

“They’re gonna kill me,” Gamz whimpered. “When they see I didn’t . . . do that to him, they’re gonna do it to me instead.”

“Shoosh,” Karkat soothed, “It’ll be alright. You can come with us.”

No. John didn’t want him to go with them. John wanted to leave him here to sit in and stare at the buckets around the basement and stay far, far away from them.

The ceiling creaked, sending Gamz into a scared shiver and Karkat into an alarmed frown. “John,” Karkat called softly, eyes staying on the ceiling. “We need to go. Now. I think the others have arrived.”

John shivered and moved to stand, his legs wobbling violently and teeth chattering. Karkat moved to help him, but John shook his head. He was quivering so hard he was probably ridiculous to look at, but he could stand on his own, which was enough for him for right now. They could work on calming him down after they abandoned Gamz and left this terrible place.

“Okay,” Karkat whispered after a few minutes, “We should be okay to go upstairs now. Try to keep your protein chutes shut for five seconds.”

John followed Karkat, who forced Gamz to stand and tiptoe in front of him (probably so John didn’t have to walk behind him. He’d have to thank the angel for that later) while the two of them ascended quietly after.

The basement led directly to the living room, which also happened to be where the front door was, thankfully. No one was around, but from somewhere else in the house John could hear a dark, honking music. He saw Gamz shudder out of the corner of his eye, but they all seemed to ignore it and simply made for the door. Unlike in awesome movies where a villain would have _definitely_ appeared and challenged them before they could leave, that didn’t happen, and the three of them found themselves outside and running for the street before anyone could say the word.

“Take your car! We might need it!” Karkat hissed at Gamz, who hesitated before obliging, hopping into his vehicle and starting it. “We’re going for my car! You just hurry up and leave!”

John followed Karkat’s lead down the street to where an ordinary-looking truck sat parked off on the side of the road in front of an unknown house, Gamz’s vehicle passing them by, though the killer slowed when he spotted them.

Crap. They might not be able to lose him after all.

Karkat and John hopped into the truck, put on their seat belts (“Safety first!” John exclaimed at the seat belt-less angel, who grumbled reluctantly in response), and took off. Gamz followed them off the street and out of the neighborhood like a lost puppy, and John couldn’t help but watch him in the rearview mirror, still shaking from earlier and completely unhappy to have Gamz still with them.

“John,” Karkat grunted from over the steering wheel, eyes narrowed at the road.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what I did back there?”

How would John know that? Of course he didn’t! He didn’t know anything about angels and their apparently weird powers! “No.”

“I asked the Holy Spirit to enter him,” Karkat said, still not looking at him. “When I did that, it cleaned the evil out of that man, and not only did it give him guilt and a conscious, but it made him into another person. He’s completely and totally different than whoever was down there with you five minutes earlier. You got that?”

John swallowed and looked out the passenger window, eyes fixed on the large, wealthy houses they passed by on their way out of the neighborhood. It really was a beautiful place, to be honest. It was too bad its scenery was tarnished by John’s new experience in one of its houses. “I understand what you mean,” he said after a beat of silence, “But that doesn’t mean I can just . . .” He wasn’t sure what to say here. “Get over it”? “Let it go”? “Look at him and not be scared”?

Karkat’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I asked you if you trusted me and you said yes, right?”

“. . . Yeah.”

The angel blew out a breath. “Then I’m going to need you to make on your words and trust me on this. I promise you, I know what I’m doing. You won’t be hurt again, okay? I won’t allow it. There will never, ever, _ever_ be a repeat of today, okay?”

It took John longer than it should have to reply to that, but when he did, he meant what he said. “I believe you.”

* * *

 

Karkat locked the door, eyes staring at John, who was sitting on the bed, curled up into a ball with the sheets wrapped around his body. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

“No,” he admitted, hunching his shoulders to put his face deeper into the blankets, “But what else are we going to do? It’s not like you’re going to let me kick him out or anything. I’ll just have to deal with it, I guess.”

“John.” It seemed to be all the angel could say for a few minutes, expression pained. He stood there for a little bit before walking up to his husband slowly, one knee coming up to rest on the bed, gray face hovering close to John’s. “He won’t hurt you again, I swear. Gamz couldn’t come in here even if he wanted to. The door’s locked, and I set up some . . . extra protections to keep him and any other hostile force out.”

John shivered and burrowed deeper into the bed, hiding his face from Karkat. “I know.”

Karkat was quiet for a moment. “Come here.”

He didn't have much of a chance to follow the order before Karkat was pulling his body towards the other’s, draping John across his clothed chest. In fact, this time they were both slightly clothed, wearing only tee shirts and boxers, yes, but still more than their first night sleeping together.

John stuck his face in the crook of his husband’s neck, inhaling deep. For whatever reason, the smell of the angel was extremely comforting, and if Gamz’s earlier display was anything to go by, it wasn’t just him who thought so. It actually made him feel a little weird, knowing other people reacted the same way to Karkat’s scent. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

Their heart were placed close to one another’s, so close that John could feel the steady thumping of his angel’s, soothing him to a point where he felt his body relax, his exhausted mental and emotional status dragging him to sleep.

Maybe it was just the great speed at which he was falling asleep, but he could have sworn, laying there blinking and yawning, that Karkat started to glow. Literally, _glow._

“Karkat, I don’t mean to alarm you,” John mumbled, “But your body is trying to become a light bulb. And I think it’s succeeding.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Okay.” So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't talk about who "you" is, as it's pretty obvious throughout the fic, and for those who are reading this for information and after they read the chapter.
> 
> "You" has what I tried to depict as schizophrenia. Some things I will say about this, however, are as follows:
> 
> 1) There isn't a lot of information about this out there. Unless one was to go out and buy a psychology textbook or the like on the subject (which I do plan to do later), it's extremely hard to find anything over it. Most of what you CAN find on the Internet, however, says basically two things: it causes people to be severely delusional/disconnect with reality (meaning they don't necessarily have to hear voices to have schizophrenia) and it's different in every person.
> 
> 2) I have never met and do not know anyone with schizophrenia, so I'm not a reliable resource on how they may act socially.
> 
> 3) People with schizophrenia are NOT BAD PEOPLE. That is not what I'm trying to communicate here AT ALL. Gamzee having schizophrenia is just what made the most sense to me when taking his character out of the context of Homestuck and putting it into a world like this one. Please do not assume schizophrenics are bad or all killers or something, okay?
> 
>  **So with all of this, you should be able to conclude one thing: I am not a completely reliable source of information on this topic and may have totally and completely screwed it up.** In fact, this chapter wasn't written with a good representation of schizophrenia anyway! If you haven't noticed, I went a bit lax on it at the end there because I didn't want to get into how much Gamzee worshipped the voices in his head because honestly? I started to get freaked out because I'm a huge wuss and I don't care.
> 
> So if you notice anything wrong, _please_ point it out. Even if it's not over this topic! I understand I could have royally screwed a bunch of stuff up, and I am not trying to offend anyone or claim I am all-knowing. If you see something, feel free to point it out!
> 
> Thank you for reading! :D


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